Tonight, I was at a Nets game.
Don’t worry about why I was at a Nets game or how sad my life has gotten that I, indeed, found it to be a good way to spend my time to go to Brooklyn to watch Sean Kilpatrick and Isaiah Whitehead get starter’s minutes… I was there, that’s all you need to know.
Point is, once the game was over, my friend and I sat in our seats for a while as the rest of the crowd filed out. We had no where to go, so we waited for the traffic to die down.
Then, I heard this:
“Is that fucking Scott Spinelli?”
The answer was, of course, “Why yes, dear fellow.”
All jokes aside, it was a kid I’m friends with from growing up and high school that–completely randomly–also had nothing better to do on a Thursday night than watch the Nets play live and in person.
We’re not best friends in the whole wide world, we don’t text every day… but seeing him was a fun surprise. The three of us hung out for a while after the game, shooting the shit and it was all by random chance. Had we simply left earlier or sat somewhere else, no dice.
In a crowded place, to see someone you recognize somehow makes the whole place more familiar. Like it’s always been your little cove.
Polar Opposite of This Feeling?: Thinking someone is someone else and being wrong, or waving at a person you do know and having that person either not see you or ignore you.
scott spinelli 